blurred realities
by angels entwined
Summary: Reality is tough. Reality isn't pretty. Reality gives you what you want and then rips it out of your hands. Or at least, that's what happened to Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta, because of chance and imperfection and fate. \ For Sylvia, at the Valentine's Day Fic Exchange. Modern day AU; oneshot.


_A/N - I don't own the HG, and this was written for glowing neon/Sylvia at the Caesar's Palace Valentine's Day Fic exchange. Enjoy!_

_The quality of this fic, to me, is controversial. But since it's always controversial to me, I'd like to think it can't be too bad. I also worked on this until past midnight, so my hyperactivity and mental caffeine probably slipped in. . ._

* * *

**_blurred realities_**

_"Humankind cannot bear very much reality." _  
_― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets_

**the leaves were whispering to the wind**

The first day of college, she meets Finnick Odair.

The taxi glides through the streets, and everyone is whispering about so many things when she arrives. It makes her nervous, their fast exchange, and in her haste to find her first class, she nearly trips.

He, like every other boy with any manners at all, offers her a hand, a smile, and help. She barely even looks at him, instead choosing to flush and say yes. She doesn't want help, but she doesn't want to be rude, either.

"What's your name?" he asks, gesturing toward the open door of her classroom. He has bronze hair and green eyes, and when she looks up at him through the brown hair hanging in her face, she looks right back down again.

She swallows, but not because of him (all right, partially, but she's not _that _shallow, no matter how attractive he is). "Annie—Annie Cresta."

"Nice to meet you, Annie," he says. "I'm Finnick."

It starts as simple as that, chance and a greeting.

* * *

She bumps into Finnick again at lunch, and he invites her to sit with him. She says yes—why not?

"So," he says, watching her intently from across the table. "I heard you're. . .new."

"Yes, I'm here on a scholarship," she replies evenly. There's no shame in it, which is a little surprising, but she knows that things could be far worse. That they _have _been far worse. Her family is poor; she remembers her mother's strained smile as she sent her daughter off to college on her own, into the world to face everyone who's going to judge her for who—what—she is.

He shrugs, brushing off the detail. "I've been here for a year."

Annie doesn't see why that's important, but she remembers her mother's furrowed brows and her _Be polite, dear, _as if she's still young, and manages an "Oh."

It seems like an awkward silence, but Finnick isn't bothered. He studies her; she doesn't look like anything special—plain and simple. But he's seen a lot of girls who didn't look like anything special (well, more than _seen_), and something in her eyes tells of something different.

To her, it's more than _different. _

They talk a little. It's not special, and it wouldn't stick out to him, but it does to her, mostly because people only talk to her to fling insults. She's the person who has to go to the therapist and take medication.

She doesn't plan to tell anyone here that, though. Hopefully, she can start over and keep her _problems _quiet. She doesn't trust people not to judge her.

* * *

She writes a letter to her parents that evening, but it's nothing but superfluous details and _everything's okay so far. _She has to write a letter to her therapist, too, but it's brief. Annie remembers when she was little, she saw a concerned doctor telling her parents _I'm so sorry, something's wrong with your child, _and the diagnosis (the clipboard, the loopy signature), and wonders if she loses control here, will that happen again?

She hopes not. She crosses her fingers and writes, but she knows her therapist can barely tell anything about her. It's not an appointment she wants to make anytime soon.

* * *

He's still curious about her. They talk a little bit more—casual conversation to him, too personal for her—and at some point, it becomes a regular task. She knows Finnick has other friends, but he seems to be ignoring them. At lunch, between classes, on the grounds—it's puzzling. He persists, though, and though she's tentative to call him her friend, it's the closest she's ever come. Besides, once you have a first conversation, it's difficult not to have a second, or a third, or a fourth. . .

Everything is fine. It's hopeful, in fact, and she feels better than ever.

Of course, she hadn't been prepared for college. She could swear the professors had lost their marbles. She spends more times staring at papers, eyes glazed over, than not. It's still fun, though; college has so much to do when she has the time. Not that she really knows what to do with it, since she's never been one to socialize.

By anyone else's standards, it's normal.

* * *

"Stupid _essays._" She's not happy. It feels as if her head is going to explode, and her skin is on fire even though it's _raining _outside. Every light glares at her and every sound is an explosion, and the last thing she wants to do is work on a five-page essay she'd procrastinated on.

There's a knock on the door, which swings open before she can answer. _He's _standing there in the doorway, but he doesn't come in, instead choosing to bow, smiling. "May I come in at this unholy hour?"

She blinks, bewildered, and turns to glance at her alarm clock. _12:18 AM. _It's _midnight _already? She knows her dormmates are out at some party, but then again, she shouldn't be surprised. Even she doesn't think midnight is the worst time ever, but to be doing homework at this time is a stretch. She never took this long to do it before.

"Oh, um, sure."

Finnick hovers in the doorway. "I heard a rumor it's considered a breach of social code for a girl to invite a boy into her room here." He tilts his head, watching her, and she'd normally blush—but not now. She is irritated and acts a lot ruder than she normally would.

"Yeah, that's nice. Come in, anyway."

"I thought we were just getting acquainted?" he asks, arching an eyebrow, and she laughs, cheered up slightly. "Something like that."

He laughs, too, and quite easily, as if she's passed a test. It feels as if he's come through a barrier.

**fractured moonlight on the sea**

One night, Finnick asks her to come with him to see a special place. She blinks. "Your 'happy place,' you mean?"

He smiles slightly, a smile that takes her breath away. "Sort of."

Curious, she follows him into his car, a sleek silver insert-car-name-she-doesn't-know-here. She can't see it very well in the graying evening, but it's barely six o'clock, and it's not like he's dragging her out to a bar or something.

The drive is about fifteen minutes, and she doesn't dare look out the window. It feels awkward in the car, but at the same time, nice. Annie's never liked tons of people swarming around her, shouting, making her feel like they're closing in on her. Finnick doesn't speak, just stops the car and opens the door, waiting for Annie to follow.

They're at the beach.

It's a little anticlimactic for her, but she doesn't mind. Finnick strides toward something sticking out of the water without looking at her, and she follows him. The something turns out to be rocks, wet with seaweed clinging to it, and it's not very pleasant-looking to her at first. But he clambers onto the rocks without hesitation, and she scrambles up after him; he has to pull her up to a distinctly flat surface, and she dangles her feet cautiously so they're sprayed with the sea's tears. It's not as high up as she thought. Maybe just a few feet.

"It's beautiful," she says, but the word on the tip of her tongue is _natural. _That's what she feels. She feels as if she is destined to live here forever with the sun drowning in the shimmering waves and the sand darkening when water embraces it. It's something out of a fairy tale, and she always would know she wouldn't belong in a fairy tale. It's honestly horribly cliche, but _still. _She can't think that now.

He says nothing, choosing to fix his eyes on the rosy orange-red sky, and the hours pass until moonlight glimmers on the sea. The blue-and-white colors contrast with the two colorfully clothed humans, and a kind of peace fills her veins. It's silent, without even an oh-so-_I-know-secrets _whisper from the wind.

She slides closer to the edge of the rocks, enjoying the sensation of cool water around her feet. (She's also glad she's wearing flip-flops instead of sneakers, because wet socks that come with sneakers don't feel very nice.) Closer, closer. She swears there's something alive brushing her ankles. But it's not as if a jellyfish will sting her or anything. She hopes so, anyway—it's fairly shallow here. She slides closer to the edge and—

She's falling.

Finnick turns just in time to see her hit the water, and she's about to face the horizon when the pain in her knees snaps her back into reality. She realizes what she was just about to do, and when she looks at her knees, it's red and scraped.

"Why did you do that?" Finnick asks, alarmed. He jumps fearlessly off the rock, landing safely in the sand.

Annie is quiet as he hurries to the car, rummaging around for something. He comes out without anything to help her injury and sighs. "Come on, let's go."

* * *

She thinks she's ruined the perfect day. She was stupid enough to listen to the voices. It wasn't the first time, and she knows it won't be the last. A tear slips down her face. She doesn't want Finnick to see it in the car mirror, so she wipes it away as quickly as she can.

He doesn't speak in the car, just drives as fast as he can without breaking the speed limit, and she presses her face against the window to see the moonlit sea vanish.

* * *

She breaks down later that night, cries and tells him the whole thing, that she shouldn't be here, not really. She's a danger to the students; she's insane and she's ashamed about it. It rushes out of her like the words have been trapped in her mouth all her life, and then she curls up and crumbles. She knows she's overreacting and she'll regret this breakdown in the morning, but she really couldn't care.

He sits next to her and he kisses her, wipes the tears from her face for her. Normally she would have been stunned, drawn back and stared because _she _has experienced this, but now she feels as if she's suspended in the air, dangling above everyone else.

His skin feels like fire, and she falls asleep that night mumbling in her sleep. She can't ignore the voices that urge her to open the window and plummet off the edge, and she laughs, just a little, because really, isn't she entitled to acting crazy if that's what she is?

When she wakes up in the morning, he's gone. She's not surprised; he shouldn't have been in her room so late at all. Word will undoubtedly get out (it always does) and secrets will dance around the school, but it's honestly nothing new to the students. She swallows, but something tells her to get over it.

**never let me go (not ever)**

From then on, it's like a dream. College is full of sadistic professors and the number of all-nighters Annie's required to pull is ridiculous, but she lives in the moment, staying optimistic. She curls up on the rocks with Finnick almost every night, her nerves soothed by the sound of crashing waves, and to her relief, she doesn't receive the urge to fall off again. She knows falling won't be enough to break her neck, but by some bizarre way of landing and her luck, she probably would, anyway. She pushes that worry away, and when she pretends it isn't there, it truly isn't.

She doesn't call him her _boyfriend, _or say they're a couple, because that's something girly that belongs in a celebrity magazine. She likes to think they're closer than friends, though, and he does too. Occasionally, they'll steal a kiss cloaked in night so no one sees them, but thoughtful conversations they'd never have in front of everyone mean even more, because before you can love someone romantically, you have to trust them.

Now she has a friend, two friends, threefourfive? All right, not that many. But she feels more confident now, and maybe that helps, so she earns the friendship of a few girls in the quieter group, who mostly read more than they talk and seem suspicious of most people. They're not anything Finnick is, but she can talk to them, and there's a kind of warm peace in her days. She writes home to her parents, who send smiley faces in letters and a lot of encouragement.

* * *

It's official.

There's a birthday party for one of Annie's friends. Aforementioned friend doesn't want half the dormitory to show up, but this place is a place where everyone can't keep their nose out of everyone else's business, and so naturally a small, cozy nineteenth birthday turns into something that will have her dormmates grumbling about the mess for days afterwards.

Of course, alcohol is somehow smuggled in, and everyone's a bit sideways. She's fine, though. She can't risk drinking; that would probably encourage the voices to come out into the open even more.

Finnick kisses her in front of _everyone, _and from then on, they're _the couple, _so amazingly simple. She doesn't really care about the jealous looks and the jeers. The whispers of _Come on, you _know_ they're going to wind up together_ vanish, replaced by a lot of petty gossip, most of which is really insulting, but Annie shrugs it off, or tries to. Finnick's not concerned.

She can smell his breath and knows there's no alcohol on it, and that's nice, because she likes to think this passion isn't because his brain is sideways.

* * *

She cries during the nights, but he's there for her, murmuring into her ear, and when she loses all control and the voices in her head are coaxing and threatening and being so convincing she can't see reality, he's still there.

He's always there, and she's glad. Sometimes he seems perfect next to her, who screams at random during the night and has maybe three or four friends, who is not beautiful and has no self-esteem whatsoever and whose parents seem to doubt and approach with caution, like she might explode any minute. He's attractive, but not only that—she's not that shallow—he's caring and kind and everyone likes him because of that (she thinks so, anyway).

She tells Finnick this, and his eyes seem to harden before he says, _You're more perfect than I could ever hope to be._

She smiles, because he sounds sincere, but she wonders sometimes.

**flying and falling are the same thing**

The end starts at another party, which is rather strange, considering the beginning also started at a party.

The two have snatched up some cake, and Annie is waiting in a shadowed corner. She doesn't like parties. They're loud and noisy and chaotic, but Finnick doesn't mind, and after all, it's okay to be a little wild, right? She eats the cake, which is thick and frosted carefully and chocolate, her favorite flavor, with elegant little swirls that resemble roses.

She waits, and it's when she sees Finnick staggering into the hallway that she stands up immediately. He's intoxicated. She can tell. He's not wearing a shirt, and another girl comes up behind him.

"Hey, _Annie_. Heard you were supposed to be in an insanity asylum before this, huh?" the girl asks, smirking cruelly. _"Freak."_

The world stills for a moment.

Annie knows this girl; she's just another gossipy, clique-y girl among the rest, but she looks at the girl's tangled hair and red cheeks and know somehow she coaxed Finnick to take a tumble between sheets with her, and she _knows_ he's betrayed her.

Someone asks what the girl means, but Annie just screams and launches herself not at the girl, because she'd expect that of her, but at Finnick. The fire that rages in her blood is far easier to fuel than to piece the shards of her heart together. She drops the cake—the cake she'll remember for years—which splatters on the floor in a mess of chocolate, but she can't find herself to care.

_No_, she thinks, shaking with anger. Crimson washes over her vision, but even so, she feels herself falling apart.

It's been an illusion, all an illusion, like it was with every other girl he was with. After all, he's supposed to be attractive and perfect and he's been playing her the whole time. She's been so stupid.

She tries to rake her nails down his face, and she succeeds, scratching that handsome face before someone drags her back by the hair. She screams again and kicks whoever it is and flies out the door, and she makes it out onto the grounds to crumble in tears.

_It's not fair._

No, that's not it. She's always known life isn't fair, and she'll continue to know it. "Fair" isn't the right word, or else why would this make her feel like her heart is lying on the floor in shards?

_It's not the work of someone who loves her._

At some point, she finds herself back in her dorm. She doesn't remember how, but reality is blurred, and she stumbles inside her room without having the memory of opening the door. She's about to collapse on the bed, but she remembers conversations by the bed and a stolen kiss (they'd never slept together; Annie wouldn't do it) and it's just too painful, so she curls up on the floor and cries herself to sleep.

* * *

When she wakes up again, she wants to think it's all a horrible dream, but she walks outside and sees the cold mist gathering on the grounds and the cold, judgmental gazes, coming with strained conversations. She knows then that it's not a dream, that Finnick has betrayed her, and she turns around to stalk away.

Better to be angry and unforgiving for the rest of her life than to remember what could have been. Let her burn; better than breaking.

* * *

No one likes her anymore. Her friends won't stick to her, and she doesn't blame them. They're convinced she's going to lose her connections with reality, and she already has, in a way. She's lost her friends, lost her. . .no, she isn't calling him an ex. That strikes her as unsuitable. She won't write to her parents and the college staff has already visited her because parents are concerned about That Unstable Girl who would endanger their children.

She never visits the rocks anymore. She can't even look at Finnick, let alone meet him. Something tells her that that girl caught him in a moment of weakness. He was drunk, intoxicated. He couldn't help it. He—

Bloody _hell._

She shoves away the excuses, and now her nights are spent alone in her room with her roommates trying to avoid her. She presses her nose to her papers and tries to get her homework done, because that's all she can do now.

* * *

Finnick will regret what he did for ages, and try to figure out why. He has been manipulated, and after hiding his own secrets they fall out in one night on the bed. It's pure bad luck and fates and it's not _right. _Everyone blames Annie, and 90 percent of the female population still tries to walk up to him and smile and say _she's not worth it._ He's been too concerned and selfish and—

That doesn't matter now. It hurts, and she doesn't look at him. She avoids him. He can feel the sting on his face long after it's healed, and it still hurts nowadays. He looks as he always will.

He deserved for the sting to last forever. He can watch on the rocks and think and _remember, _but it hurts too much. (He remembers anyway.)

**reflections still look the same**

But things are still different.

Annie walks with her head bowed, hoping no one looks at her, which isn't that different from before she came here. It's exactly the same, but she _feels _different.

_Why? _the little voices in her head will ask her, but she ignores them. She knows full well why, but why does it matter? Everything is ruined. _Everything. _She's back at square one. Square _negative _one.

She survives a few more years of bullying and cruelty, and at some point, Finnick moves away. She knows now it's safe to go to the rocks, so she slips into a taxicab and hurries out to the beach.

She is completely alone.

She climbs onto the rocks. It's not daylight, but it's not evening. The sky is cloaked in a light gray and the waves are just as gray and so low they don't touch her feet. Somewhere in the distance, a seagull crows. It isn't beautiful—Annie has been gone so long, and she sees now the beach is dotted with more pollution than shells. It's serene and peaceful, but it isn't beautiful. There's a kind of dullness about it.

Annie has cried too much. She doesn't cry now. She watches, knowing it was all ruined in one night. The beach's beauty is deteriorating with her life.

Something tells her she can forgive Finnick now, if she really tried, but she doesn't have the courage. He's gone and she refuses to try to find him. She bows her head, and sees her reflection in the water. She's probably hallucinating, because the water isn't clear enough for reflections, but why does it matter?

Yes, she _is _hallucinating, because soon enough, a familiar face appears beside her.

She blinks and turns away, hugging her knees. The sun is hiding today, yet there's no clouds. It's odd; perhaps volcanic ash? It's fitting, though.

* * *

Life goes on. Annie graduates and will think of the one year she had friends and love and all she wanted. Finnick wanders off to another city, and tries to make up for his mistake.

Reality is blurred now. It's hazy and moves as if in slow motion.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was (yes, _was) _a boy who loved, and a girl who loved, and the world between them, because it's so easy to fall. Their story is not one of _happilyeverafter,_ because reality is not _happilyeverafter _and something built upon years can crash in days.

* * *

End (sort of).


End file.
